


A Body That Makes Sense

by szervetlen



Category: Dance Gavin Dance (Band)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, RPF, terribly maudlin self-indulgent words, weird present tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24035407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/szervetlen/pseuds/szervetlen
Summary: On tour, Jon and Tilian are closer than ever in space, but reaching out to each other emotionally is a whole different story.
Relationships: Jon Mess/Tilian Pearson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	A Body That Makes Sense

It can be very hard to recognise a change in someone when you see them every day. Now that Tilian thinks of it, maybe he should have picked up earlier in the tour that something was wrong. He feels selfish for getting caught up in himself, allowing himself to ride the success of their biggest ever tour, the freedom and liberties that the little extra financial security guaranteed him. Now, as he lies in the dark of the tour bus at 4am, trying to focus on a tiny noise in the dark, he kicks himself for being so selfish. 

Small, snuffly cries, barely audible over the creaky suspension of the bus, filtering up from the bunk beneath his own. 

The image of Jon, curled up, alone, trying to muffle his sad noises with his thin, worn pillow.

Jon’s withdrawal over the last few weeks, his hair and beard messy and unkempt, hoodies and baggy t shirts almost, but not quite, hiding his weight gain and blotchy skin.

Tilian doesn’t know where to start. Should he reach out? Should he pretend he never heard Jon crying, and live with the guilt of knowing he was awake to help? Should he mind his own business? He knows he’s woefully inexperienced in these matters, prone to saying the wrong thing despite his best intentions and only making the situation worse. 

Tilian rolls over, closing his mind, covering his head, and he falls into a dreamless sleep.

-

Jon is overwhelmed by the noise, the lights, the stark emptiness of the venue as the VIP passholders stream into the venue. He pulls his jacket tight around himself, trying his best to plaster a smile on his face, shoving his hands into his pockets so no one can see how much he’s shaking. He used to enjoy the free-format meet and greet, letting him spend time with fans who seem genuinely interested in what he has to say, able to easily excuse himself from irate fanboys asking him the same tired old questions about a certain ex-vocalist. 

He focuses as he hears a voice, too loud, too close. The man, taller and broader than Jon, looks angry with him. Why? Jon desperately tries to pay attention, excusing himself, apologising, his heart racing. The man throws up his hands, muttering something about Jon being too good for fans now that DGD are playing bigger venues. His heart sinks, his eyes begin to sting. He makes sure he pays special attention to what the next girl has to say to him, smiling quite genuinely as she presents him with her artwork of the band. He thanks her, taking his time to pose in just the way she wants for her photo. He has an obligation to fulfill, but he needs to remember that he’s doing this out of passion.

It’s just that sometimes he wonders if he deserves the success. As the next group of men descend upon him, holding up their vinyl expectantly, Jon catches Tilian’s eye across the room, flustered, and Tilian’s comforting, understanding smile grounds him. He can get through five minutes, and then five minutes more.

-

A hotel room on a night off, a luxury, a space to spread out. Tilian pours himself a hefty measure of vodka from the well-stocked minibar, takes a deep drink. He turned down going out tonight - his thoughts are weighing too heavy on him. Jon, looking so lost at today’s meet and greet. It wasn’t the first time and he seemed to be getting more and more nervous. He doesn’t understand what was holding him back from going to talk to Jon. He drinks, and he drinks some more. He doesn’t want to focus on what he can’t understand.

-

Curled up on his bed, fully clothed, unable to move. Frozen in place, head buried in his arms. Jon wants to cry, he wants to scream, he wants to do anything to can to release the cold, brittle weight in his stomach. He’s been performing for over ten years, yet he still feels like an imposter. Will it end? Will he ever gain the confidence he should have? Is he living someone else’s life, faking it? He feels talentless, worthless. No wonder he can’t hold down any kind of meaningful relationship. He doesn’t deserve help. He slides his hands underneath his hoodie and squeezes hard at his soft flesh, until his nails bite into his flesh and his tears finally slide free, soaking his pillowcase.

-

He can’t do it. He can’t sleep. He needs to be there for his friend. He can’t be selfish anymore.

-

He can’t force himself to move. He reaches for his phone, his vision blurry, tapping out a short, inarticulate message. He doesn’t know where else to turn.

-

His phone lights up. _Please come and see me_. Tilian throws on his jeans and makes his way down the hall to Jon’s room. Pushes lightly on the unlocked door, dim light revealing Jon’s small, crumpled form on the unmade bed. He sits down, pulling Jon tight against him, feeling no resistance. He can feel him shaking as he cries, helpless, unselfconscious.

-

Tilian’s simple, gentle touch on his back, fingers through his hair. Jon wants to be embarrassed by his dirty clothes, his greasy hair. He wants to apologise for making Tilian feel his soft, unathletic body. He can’t seem to get any words out at all, but the relief of crying properly and receiving only comfort in return is all he can ask for right now. Tilian whispers to him, asking why he didn’t call him earlier, and all he can do is hold on tighter. He squeezes his eyes shut as Tilian lies down with him, scooping him against his chest and resting his chin on top of his head. He feels a tiny, almost imperceptible pinpoint of warmth deep within his chest.

-

Tilian pulls Jon gently upright after a fashion. He encourages him to shower, digging around in Jon’s messy overnight bag and finding him clean boxers and a t shirt to change into. He calls down to room services, ordering Jon a sandwich and making sure he eats a few mouthfuls. Simple motions, trying to be practical when his heart is breaking over and over again. He knows now that he’s done the right thing. He wants to apologise to Jon, but he senses that Jon doesn’t need that. In fact, he feels like Jon won’t be ready to talk for a while yet. He gets the impression that Jon has been subconsciously warding off physical affection for quite some time, but he seems to be craving it now, even allowing Tilian to dress him in his own hoodie when he saw him shivering slightly just out of the shower. Tilian’s stomach does a little flip when he sees Jon’s tiny, gentle smile.

-

Jon asks Tilian to stay the night. He trusts him completely. He doesn’t want to think any further than tonight. This is the first time he’s felt hopeful in weeks.

-

Tilian is respectful of Jon’s space, but receptive when Jon curls up close to him in bed. He vows to be there for him in every way he can.

-

When Tilian’s lips touch Jon’s for the first time, he feels like he’s finally broken through the glass wall separating him from the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh good, self indulgent angst only exemplified with a La Dispute lyric as a title. Hopefully someone gets something out of this one!


End file.
